rather skate on the thinnest ice (damned if i do, damned if i don't)
by blenderfullasarcasm
Summary: Understandably, the unnamed henchman had been petrified when one of his superiors had given him the order to relay a message to the Guardians. Especially given the contents of the message. He'd already resigned himself to probably leaving the lounge with fewer limbs than he had entered with. (Spooktober Day 17: Cemetery / limbs)


_Why me? _the unnamed henchman moaned internally.

_Why? I've always been good. I've done everything my mother asked of me. I've always eaten my vegetables. Heck, I've never even cursed. The only reason I joined the mafia was because I needed the money for my brother's chemotherapy! _

_So what have I done to deserve this? _

_What does the universe have against me? _

_What did I do to get such bad karma? _

He was so drawn up in his misery that he almost walked right past the Guardians' lounge.

Now, although he _really _would have loved to dash past this room the way everyone else did, he regrettably could not do that today. Had it been any other day, he wouldn't have even been _near _this area. Actually, he made it a point not to go within fifty meters of this place.

The Guardians were just _that _terrifying.

(It probably had something to do with the fact that this particular unnamed henchman was extremely weak in comparison to the Guardians. If they were an army - an army each, mind you - then this particular henchman was probably somewhere in the vicinity of a speck of dirt on one of the foot soldier's boots.)

So, understandably, the unnamed henchman had been petrified when one of his superiors had given him the order to relay a message to the Guardians. Especially given the contents of the message. He'd already resigned himself to probably leaving the lounge with fewer limbs than he had entered with.

He gulped as he knocked timidly on the door to their common room. He really hated his job right now, the unnamed henchman realized as he heard shouting and explosions from inside the room. He took a deep breath and knocked louder on the ornate door.

No one answered, but the explosions became louder.

The henchman didn't know whether he was about to laugh or cry, but he was definitely leaning towards crying. Summoning the last dredges of his courage, he banged on the door as loudly as he could.

There was silence in the room.

The unnamed henchman wondered hysterically if the explosions had killed everyone.

(These explosions that the unnamed henchman heard were actually very small on a Vongola scale. Think about three sticks of dynamite per explosion. Actually, they were somewhere between _minuscule _and _microscopic _on the usual scale of Vongola explosions. Unfortunately, Tsuna had actually had to make a scale. Only up to Level Three explosions were allowed to occur indoors. )

(These explosions didn't even rank Level Zero, but the unnamed henchman didn't know that.)

Fortunately for the Guardians (but rather unfortunately for the unnamed henchman), they were absolutely fine. The door in front of the unnamed henchman opened slowly, as if the person opening it was slightly surprised that it hadn't been a) blown up, b) punched open, c) walked through - as in, without actually opening the door, d) sliced to ribbons, e) struck by lightning, f) bitten to death, g) shot, or h) just generally destroyed.

"Ah, L-L-L-Lambo-sama," stuttered the still unnamed henchman, mildly relieved at the sight of a cow-print button-down. Lambo Bovino, the Lightning Guardian, was quite possibly the safest Guardian with which the unnamed henchman could interact - not because of his age, but because of the way he seemed indifferent to everyone except the Vongola Decimo and perhaps the other Guardians. Which meant he _probably _wasn't going to challenge the poor unnamed henchman to a duel to the death or something. That was a very large plus, in his book.

Lambo looked at the poor unnamed henchman with a vaguely disinterested expression. He seemed like he was about to fall asleep if the henchman didn't start talking.

The unnamed henchman gulped as Lambo slowly blinked in his direction. "P-Pardon the interruption, but I - um, I h-have some v-very important -"

Lambo turned on his heel, beckoning for him to follow lazily with one finger. "I don't deal with important stuff."

The poor unnamed henchman followed him reluctantly into the luxurious room. It was probably bigger than his entire house, but most of the Guardians were gathered in the center by a cluster of couches, chairs, and the remnants of a table.

(All of the furniture was fire retardant, explosion resistant, and extremely resilient, by order of Tsuna. As he had told his Guardians, "Even if I do now run the Vongola Famiglia, that doesn't mean I can afford replacing everything in the house every other day! At least this way I'll only have to deal with structural damage to the mansion!")

Gokudera Hayato, the Storm Guardian, was standing in the center of the grouping of chairs with sparking sticks of dynamite in his hands, face filled with rage.

The unnamed henchman gulped, hoping that it wasn't because of him - irrationally, of course, because he hadn't _done _anything.

His fears were mildly alleviated when he realized that the anger was actually directed towards Yamamoto Takeshi, the Rain Guardian, whose face was about three inches from Gokudera's. He didn't look particularly frightened. In fact, he was smiling genially towards the guy in front of him, though he kept a hand on his sword's hilt. Wait, was that...laughter?

Yes, indeed, Yamamoto was in fact literally laughing in the face of danger, the unnamed henchman thought hysterically. He wasn't sure what his face was doing at that particular moment, but he was certain that it wasn't very flattering.

Chrome Dokuro, one half of the Mist Guardian (the unnamed henchman didn't really know how that worked, or why they were even named after weather phenomenons in the first place, but he figured it was above his pay grade and wisely kept his mouth shut), was watching the rather one-sided fight from one of the couches nearby, sipping something out of an opaque blue cup. Rokudou Mukuro, the other half of the Mist Guardian, was lounging next to her, looking on with amusement.

Sasagawa Ryouhei, the Sun Guardian, sat on the edge of his seat across from them, ready to jump into the fight eagerly at any given moment.

The final Guardian, Hibari Kyouya, the Cloud, wasn't anywhere near the rest of the group, apparently preferring to use his tonfa to demolish a specially-enhanced punching bag in a far corner.

Lambo returned to the sofas and flopped down across one of them, preparing to fall asleep, and the unnamed henchman quivered in his leather shoes.

"Um..." The unnamed henchman really hadn't had much time to prepare anything to get the Guardians' attention, and the time that he _had _had, he'd spent lamenting applying for this job.

Well.

'Applying' was perhaps a strong word for how he'd been recruited.

"E-Excuse me..." Yamamoto and Gokudera were still fighting, or, rather, Gokudera was fighting and Yamamoto was laughing care-freely. Neither spared the new arrival a glance.

"G-Guardian-sama?"

Nope, no answer from any of them.

Ryouhei was too engrossed in the 'fight,' as were Mukuro and Chrome, though not to the same extent.

"Hello?"

This word, apparently, caught Yamamoto's attention. He turned to see the poor sod - sorry, unnamed henchman - standing awkwardly in the doorway. His smile brightened as he put an arm around Gokudera's neck as if they were the best of friends. "Hey, Gokudera! We've got a guest!"

Gokudera stopped mid-rant and glanced at the unnamed henchman. Mukuro and Chrome also looked his way, mildly surprised. Ryouhei only noticed that the fighting stopped and looked about for the cause until his eyes also landed on the unnamed henchman.

Hibari wandered over, bored with the punching bag and sensing a new, human one in the room. Gokudera, irritated by the arm across his shoulders, turned around to where Lambo was already asleep, which forced Yamamoto's arm to drop back to his side. Yamamoto simply grinned. Gokudera was not as kind to Lambo. He kicked the couch, sending it flying through the air.

"Oi, wake up, you lazy cow! Stop reflecting badly on the Tenth!"

Lambo did indeed get up from where the couch now lay a few meters away, albeit gingerly, and moved back to stand with the group.

"Um, well - " The unnamed henchman was understandably flustered to have the attention of _all _the Guardians solely on him, and hence had almost forgotten the reason he was in this predicament in the first place.

"Spit it out," said Mukuro, lips curling in amusement, like the henchman was a smudge on the side of a wine glass that he couldn't _wait _to wipe away.

...Or wipe out.

Hibari had almost lost interest in the fresh meat, which was certainly what the poor henchman felt like under his flat grey gaze. "Get on with it, herbivore. If this isn't worth my time, I'll bite you to death."

Perhaps it was because of the creepiness of Mukuro's heterochromatic stare, or maybe it was because of the imminent death promised by Hibari (or the fact that he spoke more than five words in a row), that the unnamed henchman remembered his message. And, having remembered it, he blurted it out.

"Somebody made the Vongola Decimo cry!"

There was a stunned silence for a long, _long _moment, and the henchman thought hysterically that he should have prepared a living will or something before delivering his message.

Surprisingly, it was Hibari who first responded to this news. In a movement too quick for the poor unnamed henchman to see, he was far too close for comfort and had pressed his tonfa to said henchman's throat.

"Repeat that, herbivore," he growled, suddenly much more intimidating than before.

Said 'herbivore' nearly wet his pants. He gulped.

"S-Someone made the Vongola Decimo cry," the unnamed henchman repeated, gaze locked fearfully on the tonfa.

The information sunk in with the rest of the Guardians. Eerily simultaneously, those who didn't already have their weapons drawn did so.

Slowly, and scarily calmly, they all asked in spine-chilling unison, "Who was it, and what do they want on their tombstones?"

The henchman answered to the best of his ability: "Th-the Tenuto Famiglia. And, uh, I'm n-not exactly s-sure?"

Bloodlust filled the room instantly.

The poor henchman fainted abruptly, desperately hoping that the whole situation was just an incredibly vivid nightmare he wouldn't have to think about when he woke up.

Alas, when the poor unnamed henchman awoke, he was lying on a cot in the medical center, and was told that it had not, in fact, been a dream.

At least he was still in possession of all his limbs.

Once he could speak without stuttering incoherent;y, the henchman inquired, morbidly curious, about the Tenuto Famiglia.

The chilling answer he received from the doctor, whose blank eyes stared straight into his soul:

"The who?"

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On an unrelated note, several cemeteries were quite abruptly at full capacity.

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Notes:

ahhhhh im running behind...

title from Tip of the Iceberg (Owl City) and Space Between a Rock and a Hard Place (5SOS)


End file.
